


The Balcony

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: “Not wallowing in self-pity, are we?”Yes. “No.”Riddle's teeth glinted as he smiled, quickly, shallowly. “Of course not. You wouldn't.”Boys kissing with a side of angst.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	The Balcony

**Author's Note:**

> The final one! This one is the lightest of the three by far. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ETA: oh my God I'm braindead and I forgot to add the summary! Fixed, haha.
> 
> Beta'ed by Raven, mistakes are my own.

After rounds of handshaking and introductions, the evening air was a stark relief after the congestion inside. As typical as it may be for Slughorn's parties, Harry found himself tired of socialising past the first few rounds of “my condolences”.

He swirled his punch — spiked, implied by the fuzziness of his thoughts — and leaned on the rail.

Slughorn and the house-elves had outdone themselves, as usual. Vines wound between the bars, their white flowers stained with glowing gold, and silvery, draping fabric flittered in the gentlest of breezes. He thumbed the petals, catching dust on his fingertip. They were thick and silky in a way he'd only known rose petals to be.

Harry hadn't been looking forward to tonight, not after the news he'd received only a week ago. Sirius' death hadn't yet sunk in, and its unreality left him floating through his days in a haze. He wasn't ready to face it, not yet. He wasn’t ready to be alone.

“Potter.” He hadn't heard the door open or close. Yet Tom Riddle stood, backlit by the warm pixie glow, watching him with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed. “Not wallowing in self-pity, are we?”

Yes. “No.”

Riddle's teeth glinted as he smiled, quickly, shallowly. “Of course not. You wouldn't.”

Harry had no time to think about what that meant; Riddle was right there suddenly, warm and real. It felt like waking from a dream.

The railing dug into his lower back yet he barely noticed, too focused on the lips against his, the slightest stubble catching on his chin, the hand in his hair and the thumb pressed into the narrow gap between his shirt and pants. It was too easy to respond in kind, to stand up on his toes, hook a leg around Riddle's hip and wrinkle his shirt at the sides.

Kissing Riddle was nothing like kissing Cho, Ginny, or Daphne; it was warm and slightly rough, and his stomach felt off and his fingers tingled. He was dizzy from want and need, even if he didn't know exactly what he wanted or needed.

Riddle's lips pulled away too soon and Harry whinged, high and bitten off. However, he didn't complain long; Riddle's long fingers dipped the slightest bit below his waistband, teasing his skin. Harry's eyes widened.

 _They couldn't, not here._ But despite the risk, Harry's breathing grew heavier and heavier, almost loud enough to drown out the murmur voices inside. Anyone could look out right now, see _Mr Perfect Prefect_ Tom Riddle with the Slytherin Quidditch captain on a balcony at a Slug Party. The curtains blocked the view from outside but not in; the only thing hiding them was the cover of night. Even that betrayed them tonight — the full moon illuminated everything without discrimination.

Riddle didn't slip his fingers deeper (Harry didn't know if he felt disappointed or relieved), and instead caught his lips again, pressing their bodies closer together with a smooth warm hand, branding the skin between Harry's shoulder blades. Harry’s hands slid eagerly into Riddle’s hair and then down onto his hips, feeling the shape of him under his palms. He wanted to put his hands everywhere at once (jealously wanted to be the only person to do it).

_All he wanted was what he couldn’t have._

Riddle pulled away, leaving one last kiss on Harry’s desperate lips.

“We should return to Professor Slughorn's party. We wouldn't want anyone to miss us.” Riddle flicked his head and the hair Harry messed up fell perfectly into place once more. Surely it was magic. Riddle smiled — an ugly sort, because Riddle's nice smiles were lies — and stepped away, leaving Harry leaning against that uncomfortable railing trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

“Ahh, yeah. Give me a moment,” he said. Riddle nodded and slipped inside, blending seamlessly into the black, shapeless crowd, leaving Harry alone.

Those weird, fluttery feelings were back again, twisting up his stomach. The crush he had on Riddle _needed_ to be nipped in the bud because Tom Riddle didn't do crushes or relationships or anything beyond sleeping around for information. Harry wondered what use he had; he wasn't super old money and the Potter family weren't particularly strong in politics. He stopped the train of thought abruptly after the idea of Riddle reciprocating bloomed in his head. He pushed off the railing with a frown and ripped at the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

Tom Riddle was _infuriating_ and _maybe_ Harry wanted to hold his hand sometimes—

Harry slapped the rail, grimacing at the sting and the residual ache in his palm, cradling it close to his chest.

 _Gods_ , that man was going to be the death of him, with his dark, emotionless eyes and charming, devilish words.

_Maybe Harry wanted him to be._


End file.
